


Mrs. Wilde

by zootopepo (pepoluan)



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Drabbles, Shorts collection, musings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepoluan/pseuds/zootopepo
Summary: Drabbles / supershorts on Mrs. Wilde (Nick's Mom) I salvaged from my Tumblr





	1. I Wonder

I have no doubt she knew and experienced first-hand the extreme prejudice against foxes.

But I wonder…

I wonder how she felt when little Nicholas asked her for a Junior Ranger uniform because he wanted to become a member.

I wonder if she tried explaining what might happen to her young, enthusiastic cub.

I wonder how in turmoil her mind must had been as she scrounged up enough cash to buy the materials to create the uniform. She probably didn’t have enough money to pay a tailor to make one, so she would have made the uniform herself.

I wonder how much tears fell onto the uniform she was sewing for young Nicholas.

I wonder what crossed her mind that day when little Nicky proudly stood in front of the mirror. Did she smile sadly, hoping for the best, but silently preparing for the worst?

I wonder what she said to little Nicky as he ran back home, dried tears still visible on his fur. She would’ve hugged her son tightly, wrapping her tail around the traumatized cub to comfort him.

I wonder how she would answer her son’s question of “Why mom? What have I done? Am I such a bad boy, the Junior Rangers don’t want me? Am I the reason dad left us?”

I wonder what she felt as she watched her son grow up with a hardened heart. Cynical and pessimistic of society. Never wanting a permanent job because, “They would never want me. I’m a fox after all.” Even if throughout his studies, he had been a straight A student, and even managed to secure a Bachelor’s degree.

I wonder if she felt sad that Nick decided to involve himself with the “less savory” members of society, even managed to tangle himself in an altercation with a mob boss.

I wonder if she sometimes look out of her apartment’s windows during a stormy night, all alone since her son left, wondering if her sweet Nicholas is well and dry out there.

I wonder if she still kept that Junior Ranger uniform in her closet. Looking forward to the day that her grandkit, or great-grandkit, or great-great-grandkit, can wear it without prejudice anymore…


	2. In Her Fifties

She’s in her fifties. Fur graying here and there. Back slightly stooping. The years hadn’t really been kind to her.

She’s in her fifties. More than fifty years facing the unfair prejudice of the populace. Of thinking that ALL foxes are shifty, and untrustworthy. But she does have friends who trusted her. Friends who society had dumped too under the label “Predators not to be trusted”. Oppressed mammals do stick together.

She’s in her fifties. It had been one decade to this very day, when her son closed the apartment door for the last time. Not a night went by that she didn’t stop at the door to her son’s room, whispering, “be safe.” Hoping against all hope that somehow the winds will carry her words to him, to remind him to be less reckless.

She’s in her fifties. She’s still beautiful. Many a fox managed to acquaint themselves to her, but she politely turned them down. She still remembers dear John. And remembers their lone cub, born out of love and hope of better days.

She’s in her fifties. When she received a letter. A lavishly decorated letter, with gold filigree and the ZPD emblem proudly embossed up front. Asking the honor of her presence for the graduation and officiation of…

… she dropped the letter and covered her mouth with her paws, tears coming out of her slightly wrinkled eyes. Sobs emanate from her, but she was sobbing in joy.

She’s in her fifties. Yet she was in her thirties. When her son was still with her. When his enthusiasm of possibly changing the world was still burning bright. And the intervening years all melt away alongside her tears that now flow freely.

She’s in her fifties. It took some time. But her son, her sweet Nicholas, is no longer lost. He has finally found his way again in this world.


End file.
